


College Weight

by roundelet



Series: chubby sterek oneshots [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Chubby Derek, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, body acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundelet/pseuds/roundelet
Summary: In which Derek isn't happy about the weight he's gaining in college but Stiles still thinks he's hot as hell.-------------------The last time Stiles had seen him, Derek had built up shoulders and a six pack. Stiles knew this for a fact since he hadn’t exactly been shy about taking off his shirt during lacrosse practice. But now, though his shoulders were as broad as ever, it was obvious, even in a black shirt that wasn’t all that tight, that Derek had gotten a little thick around the middle."Heard you got a lacrosse scholarship," Stiles said, trying to sound casual. Though that probably wasn't the right thing to lead with. Derek didn’t look out of shape, exactly. But he wasn’t in lacrosse-team-captain shape anymore."I decided not to use it," Derek said with a shrug. "I’d rather focus on college."





	1. Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is Stiles's POV. Second is Derek's.

It was his second week at college when Stiles spotted Derek across the quad. He grinned as he gave him an excited wave.

Derek stared back with a frown and Stiles lowered his hand with the realization that Derek probably didn't even remember the dorky kid from the year below him.

But then he came over.

Up close, he looked different than Stiles remembered him. His cheek bones weren’t quite as defined as they’d been, but it was hard to tell because he was also sporting something between a stubble and a beard that was hot as hell. Stiles couldn’t resist glancing down.

The last time Stiles had seen him, Derek had built up shoulders and a six pack. Stiles knew this for a fact since he hadn’t exactly been shy about taking off his shirt during lacrosse practice. But now, though his shoulders were as broad as ever, it was obvious, even in a black shirt that wasn’t all that tight, that Derek had gotten a little thick around the middle.

"Heard you got a lacrosse scholarship," Stiles said, trying to sound casual. Though that probably wasn't the right thing to lead with. Derek didn’t look out of shape, exactly. But he wasn’t in lacrosse-team-captain shape anymore.

"I decided not to use it," Derek said with a shrug. "I’d rather focus on college."

"Oh, cool," Stiles said. He got that. Between being pretty and the star of the lacrosse team, most people had written him off as a dumb jock. But Derek had always been smarter than everyone had given him credit for.

"We could get coffee sometime?" Derek said, rubbing his hand over his stubbled jaw.

Stiles felt his heart rate pick up. Was there any chance Derek meant that as a date? Because it wouldn't take all that much to re-ignite the embarrassing crush Stiles had had on him in high school. In fact, just seeing him again might have been enough already.

"To catch up," Derek added.

"Oh. Right, yeah. Of course. We should do that." Stiles felt his heart plummet; even though he never should have been so stupid as to believe he’d had a chance, anyways. Derek was as far out of Stiles’s league in college as he’d been in high school.

As he watched Derek head off to his class, Stiles wondered if he actually planned to meet up with him, or if he was just being polite. He knew he shouldn’t hold his breath waiting to hear from him.

 

So it was a surprise when Derek texted him later that day. And maybe even more so when they spent so long talking that Stiles's coffee got cold and Derek had to run to his evening class.

 

They met up at a frat party a couple days later. And Stiles might have gotten a little handsy when he was under the influence. But Derek hadn’t seemed to mind when he left the party with Stiles’s arm wrapped around his waist. Stiles burst out giggling partway back.

"What?" Derek asked, slowing his steps and turning to look at Stiles skeptically.

"Nothing," Stiles said. But giggled again. "Just thinking how it’s convenient to have something to hold onto."

His hand was resting on the chub over Derek’s side. He gave it a squeeze to emphasize his point. Derek stiffened beside him.

"And how love handles are called handles," Stiles continued. "And how that must be because they’re good handles. Good to handle. Hold onto, I mean. And that’s why they’re named that."

"Stiles," Derek started, but Stiles interrupted him with a yawn.

"M'tired. Home?" He dropped his head to rest on Derek’s shoulder.

 

Later that semester, as they were walking out of the library late at night, Derek kissed him.

Stiles was too flustered at first to return it, and when Derek pulled back, he looked like he might have been flushing if there had been proper light to see it in.

Derek took a step back and said, "Sorry."

"Fuck that," Stiles said. And tugged Derek back in by the collar of his shirt to finally get his act together and kiss him back.

 

Three weeks later, Derek fucked him for the first time and Stiles now knew that he’d wasted the first nineteen years of his life he’d spent not being in Derek’s bed.

He woke up the next morning to find himself curled around Derek, who was sleeping on his back, and even in sleep had an obliging arm resting around Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles watched him in the early morning light. He looked relaxed in sleep in a way he’d never seen him when he was awake.

The comforter had been tossed to the foot of the bed at some point during the night. They were in their boxers, and the warm skin of Derek’s torso felt good against Stiles's front.

He looked further down and watched Derek’s belly. His middle wasn’t round, exactly. But it didn't sink in either, even though he was lying flat on his back. Stiles watched it for a while, as it rose and then fell with each deep breath.

He wanted to touch it, see what it felt like, because he hadn’t yet and he’d touched Derek pretty much everywhere else by now. And, well, resisting temptation had never been his strong point. So Stiles placed a hand over the top of it, trying to not wake him up.

His belly was soft. Really soft. It jiggled under his touch and Stiles wondered how much weight Derek had gained since high school. It must have been more than just a few pounds, to go from having six pack to being this soft.

He wondered what his six pack would have felt like to touch. He didn’t think he wanted Derek to lose the weight, though. He was still hot like burning. And, plus, his soft tummy felt nice.

Derek began to stir and Stiles removed his hand from his middle.

"Morning," Stiles said.

Derek twisted around to his side, and looked at Stiles. "You’re still here," he said, sounding a little surprised.

"Should I not be?" Stiles asked, hating the insecurity in his voice. Stiles hadn’t been all that sure about the etiquette here. He'd fooled around with a couple guys the year before, but there'd never been the option of staying the night. And Derek had never actually invited him to stay. But he also hadn’t said anything when Stiles had collapsed into sleep in his bed.

But before Stiles's insecurities could spiral too far out of control, Derek tightened his arm around him and said firmly, "You should be."

 

Then it was winter and they were both drenched from the rain by the time they made it back to Derek’s dorm room. Stiles was grinning and kissing him over and over with the adrenaline from their sprint there from across campus.

When Stiles pulled away, he saw that Derek was giving him a small smile back. Stiles treasured those smiles, saved each one in his memory. Wanted to keep trying to make Derek smile for a really long time.

"Get your clothes off," Derek told him as he looked him up and down.

"Hmm, I like where you’re going with this." Stiles waggled his eyebrows as he lifted off his shirt, and then set to work on the soaked denim of his jeans.

Derek just rolled his eyes as he shed his own jacket. He’d worn it open and the rain had soaked through the front of his shirt. Stiles suspected he hadn’t been able to zip it. Derek had gotten heavier from the holidays and a lot of his clothes weren’t fitting that well anymore.

"Come on, I’ll get you some dry clothes," Derek said.

"You know," Stiles said casually. "I can think of a few activities we could do that don’t require any clothes."

Derek shook his head, but looked almost fond. Stiles had been getting that look from him more often lately, and it didn’t fail to make him feel warm inside.

"Don’t you have that paper due tomorrow?" Derek asked.

"Do you really have to remind me?" Stiles asked with a groan.

He watched with appreciation as Derek pulled his own shirt off over his head. But then shivered with the chill of being wet and cold catching up to him.

Derek glanced back over at him and frowned before turning to his dresser.

And then Stiles had to fumble to catch the pants Derek threw his way. They were his old lacrosse warm up pants, with BHHS stamped over the front.

"Hey, I recognize these. They only gave them out to first string. Which was totally unfair. I ran as many suicides as the rest of you."

"Keep these," Derek said, then looked down and put his hand over his stomach, which wasn’t just thick anymore but starting to round out a bit. He added self-consciously, "Not like I can wear them anymore."

Stiles glanced at the tag before tugging them on. They were mediums. He agreed, "Yeah, guess they’re not your size anymore."

As Stiles knotted the drawstring to keep them up over his hips, he couldn’t help but stare at Derek’s hand, which was still resting his belly.

Derek had never brought up his weight before and Stiles had never seen him even brush his hand against his stomach, let alone touch it like this. It was strangely erotic to watch.

"Guess thirty pounds will do that to you," Derek said. It sounded like he was trying for casual, but missing the mark by a mile.

"Thirty?" Stiles repeated. He was having a hard time taking his eyes off Derek’s naked stomach. Especially when Derek gave it a solid pat that made it wobble.

"Uh, well, as of last fall. Maybe a little more now." Derek still wasn’t making eye contact, staring down at his gut. He added with weak humor, "Guess I should hit the gym, huh?"

It occurred to Stiles that this, the first time Derek was drawing attention to the weight he’d put on, might have been him feeling Stiles out on it.

Maybe he was trying to get Stiles to react, to agree he needed to lose the weight. From the self-conscious way he was holding himself, he looked more like he was preparing himself for rejection or disgust or something else ridiculous.

"Der," he said, stepping forward, and placed a hand over Derek’s on his belly. "You know it’s okay, right? That I’m cool with it even if you never set foot in a gym again?"

"Yeah?" Derek raised hesitant eyes to meet Stiles’s.

"Duh." Stiles said, and pressed a kiss onto his lips.

 

Derek sized up a few weeks later and Stiles discovered that he missed how tight his old clothes had gotten.

 

That spring, they were getting ready to leave for Lydia's birthday party and Stiles was digging through Derek's dresser.

"You could wear these," Stiles said as he pulled out black jeans from the back of drawer and tried for his best innocent look.

"What’s wrong with these?" Derek was already dressed in his new jeans and a t-shirt. He'd even found an old jacket that still fit.

"Nothing," Stiles said quickly, glancing at where the denim was, tragically, not stretched tight across his thighs. "Just, you always look really hot in these."

It didn’t exactly have the desired effect, Stiles realized, when Derek’s face fell. He said quietly, "I can’t fit in those anymore."

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked hopefully. "I mean, I know you’re not wearing this size anymore. But tight is a really good look on you. Trust me."

"Yes, I’m sure they don’t fit. I think I would know," Derek said defensively, then sighed. "Look, I’m sorry I got too fat for your favorite jeans, okay? Now, can we just go. We’re going to be late."

 

That summer, Derek took a job with his family’s construction business. The labor from that, plus the way Stiles knew Laura and Cora had been teasing him about his weight, left him in better shape than Stiles had seen him in a while. He’d put on muscle over his arms and chest, and, while his middle was still thick, it wasn’t as big or as round anymore.

Stiles felt guilty for how good he thought Derek looked. It felt like a betrayal of the chubbier Derek from spring semester to think how good Derek of the Summer looked.

"You’re wearing my jeans!" Stiles exclaimed when Derek picked him up at his dad’s house one afternoon.

"They’re my jeans, not your jeans," Derek grumbled, but Stiles could tell he was biting back a smile. They were looser on him than Stiles’s last memories of them, though, which sort of defeated the point.

"Whatever, they’re totally mine. I’m just letting you wear them because they look better on you," Stiles said, kissing him before he plopped into the passenger seat of his Camaro.

"Yeah, I’m back down to 221 pounds," he said as he patted his stomach.

"Oh," Stiles said, looking up and down his body, taking in what 221 pounds looked like. "How much did you lose, then?"

Derek hesitated, but said, "Seventeen pounds."

"That’s a lot of weight to lose," Stiles said. He didn't know what the protocol here was. Was he supposed to congratulate him? Tell him he looked good? Because he really did. But he’d thought that 238 pounds had looked pretty good on Derek, too.

"It was a lot to gain in a year," Derek countered.

Stiles shrugged. "So that's what you weighed when we started going out?"

"It was a little less than that, back then." He hesitated, then said, "I’m sorry I got so fat on you."

"Der, I didn’t _care_ ," Stiles said. And then gave him a wink. "Plus you looked really hot in tight clothes, so that’s that."

 

The winter before, Stiles had bounced into Derek’s dorm, high on caffeine and nerves. He'd found Derek sitting on his bed reading and jumped into his lap, kissing him with what was probably too much energy for nine in the morning.

"Move in with me," he had blurted out.

Derek had frowned at him. "But you live with Scott."

Stiles had rolled his eyes. "Not right now. Next year. Scott's going to find an apartment with Allison and I don’t want to be a third wheel. And I don't want to live alone or with a random roommate in the dorms again."

"So I’m who you think of? I’m flattered," Derek had said dryly.

Stiles had frowned at Derek. "You’re my favorite person, dude. Who else would I want to live with?"

"Don’t call me dude," Derek had said distractedly. And then shook his head and looked back at Stiles with a confused expression. "You really want to live with me next fall? It’s only January now."

"Yeah, of course. It’ll be awesome," Stiles had grinned.

But then words ‘it’s only January now’ and 'you really want to live with me next fall?’ had replayed through his mind. Shit. Stiles was a fail at relationships. They’d only been together a few months and now Stiles was asking Derek to commit to him for the entirety of the following _year_.

"I mean," he’d backtracked quickly. "It’s just an idea. Probably a stupid idea. Forget I even said it."

But Derek had smiled at him tentatively and run a hand down Stiles's cheek.

"No. Let's do it," he'd said.

 

And so, that fall, they moved in together. Derek even splurged on some Ikea furniture with the money he’d made working through the summer. Living with Derek was awesome. Having sex any time they wanted? Even better.

Now that they were back at school, and Derek was no longer spending his days doing manual labor, or eating healthy homecooked meals, his old weight came back fast. He was back in his bigger jeans in just a couple months.

Stiles wondered if it was easier to gain the weight back because he’d already been this heavy before. In any case, he didn't really care. If anything, he was only disappointed that Derek, already owning a wardrobe in the next size up, didn't spend much time at all in too-tight jeans this time around.

 

Then there'd been Thanksgiving. Stiles and his dad had done all right by themselves the last ten years, but spending the day with Derek and his family filled a hole in him that he hadn't realized was empty.

The ride back to college hadn't been quite as festive. Derek had been more quiet than usual. And then when Stiles finally convinced him to tell him what was wrong, it turned out that Derek had been bothered by the way that Stiles had -- very reasonably, by the way -- pressured his dad into eating as healthy foods as possible for Thanksgiving dinner.

Apparently Derek had taken that as a condemnation of his own eating. Or maybe he'd been jealous that Stiles hadn't bugged him about it, too. Stiles didn't know what the hell was going on.

Stiles finally burst out, "Why don't I care? Because you don't have high cholesterol or high blood pressure or been told by your doctor that, combined with your high stress job, you're headed for a heart attack before you're 55!"

Derek stared at him with wide eyes.

Stiles just continued, "Because, oh my god, Der, if you did, I'd be on you about it all the time. I totally would. You're the love of my fucking life and I'd hate myself for it every time, but I'd do it, I would."

Stiles bit his lip, feeling like he was about to embarrass them both by bursting out into tears. So it was a good thing that Derek chose that moment to come to his senses and say, "I'm sorry."

Derek reached over to hold Stiles's hand as he drove. Stiles squeezed his hand back, wishing he knew how to make Derek finally believe in him.

 

"Going to miss you over the holidays," Stiles mumbled sleepily into Derek’s shoulder as they went to bed the night before they were set to return to Beacon Hills.

"We’ll be in the same town, you know," Derek reminded him.

"Yeah, but not the same bed," he mumbled. "Unless my dad’s working nights."

"Right."

Stiles smoothed his hand over Derek's middle. Even though he was lying on his back, his belly rounded up further than Stiles remembered it doing before.

He thought about Thanksgiving, and decided he needed to do some prophylactic damage control.

"You know, Der, if you gain as much holiday weight as last year--"

"I'm not planning on it," Derek interrupted.

"Yeah, but if you do," Stiles said, giving his belly an affectionate rub. "It's okay."

"I won't," he said.

 

 

He totally does.

But maybe what Stiles had said worked, because he didn't seem as self-conscious about it as he'd been every time he put on weight before.

 

Later that year, Stiles caught the bottom of Derek’s belly grazing over the tops of his thighs when he sat down.

"Your belly’s in your lap," Stiles observed to him. He was maybe a little buzzed after an evening of beer and video games at Scott’s.

He slid his hand between the tops of Derek’s thighs and the bottom of his belly, where his shirt was looking for an excuse to ride up.

Derek removed Stiles’s hand from under his middle. "You know it’s rude to talk about other people’s weight."

"I’m not talking about your weight. I’m talking about your belly," Stiles protested. Then added, "But we could talk about your weight. How much do you weigh?"

"Stiles," Derek sighed.

"What? How much?"

"Enough to never fit back into your favorite jeans again," he told him, leaning back onto the couch. Stiles watched him eye his gut and then sigh again and rest a hand on top of it.

Well, that wasn’t fair. If Derek got to touch his tummy, so did Stiles. So Stiles laid a hand next to Derek’s on the pudgy middle of it.

"They were only my favorites because they got so tight," Stiles told him.

"Sure," Derek said, but his tone was skeptical.

"Now all your jeans are tight, so I have a lot of favorites," he explained.

"Okay."

Stiles frowned, because Derek didn't sound like he understood. He said, "I like you, Der."

"I know," Derek said.

Stiles wrapped his arms tight around his chest. "I mean, I like you a lot."

"I like you a lot, too," Derek told him dryly, but Stiles caught the way his lips twitched.

Stiles grinned back at him. "I like your little belly, too."

"It's not that little."

"No," Stiles agreed. "I still like it, though."


	2. Derek

Derek knew that he'd lost some definition since high school.

He figured it was inevitable, what with no longer playing lacrosse or getting up for early runs and weight training in the off seasons. And maybe he didn't drink that much, but he'd still indulged in pizza and beer nights as often as the next freshman.

So, yeah, Derek didn't missed the fact that his six pack was gone. But he still hadn’t thought much of it when he got new jeans at the end of his freshman year and they were a size up from the ones he’d brought to college. Who still wears their clothes from high school, anyways?

 

The next year there was Stiles. Beautiful, snarky Stiles.

When he'd first seen him across the quad, it had taken Derek a moment to recognize him. His shoulders were broader with more muscle than he'd had in high school. And his hair was, well, actual hair, not all buzzed off anymore.

Derek had asked him to coffee without really thinking about it. And then he'd been late to class because he hadn't wanted to leave.

A few days later, Derek ended up at a frat party. Because, while he'd managed for once to resist Erica's peer pressure, all it had taken was a text from Stiles asking if he'd be there to say 'yes'.

Stiles got a little tipsy and a little over affectionate, because apparently he was that kind of drunk. Derek couldn’t help but find it endearing, what with the way he was casually touching Derek’s arm and bumping him with his shoulder. But then it got more than a little frustrating, when he started running his hands over Derek's torso and tracing his jaw with his fingers.

Erica gave him a lascivious wink and Derek rolled his eyes. Sure, he wanted Stiles -- more than he'd wanted anyone in a while, if he was honest -- but Stiles couldn’t exactly consent like this.

Derek still offered to walk him home.

On their way to the freshman dorms, Stiles rested his head on Derek’s chest and slung an arm around his waist.

And then he proceeded to point out the love handle Derek hadn’t even known he’d had.

 

Derek stopped by the 24 hour campus gym on his way back to his own dorm. Not to work out. It had been a while and he wasn’t going to jump back in at 1AM on a Saturday night in jeans and a too-tight t-shirt.

No, he just needed to step on the scale, take a look in a full length mirror, and prove that Stiles was imagining things.

...Stiles wasn’t imagining things.

Derek’s love handles were real, and not even subtle. The rolls at his sides were obvious even before he took off his shirt. Sure, they were probably accentuated by his pants being what looked like a size too tight. Though that wasn’t exactly reassuring, not when he’d just bought them at the end of last year and it was barely October now.

The locker room was empty, so he stripped off his shirt. But any hope that it being a little small was what was making him look chubby died when he glanced back at the mirror and saw his naked torso from the side. Of course he'd known he wasn't as thin as he once was. But he hadn't thought it was this bad.

He had moved beyond just losing the definition in his abs. His waist was thick now. He gave it a pat and grimaced as he watched it wobble. Jesus. Thick and flabby, then.

So it was with more dread than hopeful drive to prove a point that Derek stepped onto the scale.

The number that flashed there maybe shouldn't have been a surprise. But, even after feeling Stiles hold onto his not-so-imaginary love handles and seeing himself in the mirror, he had to step off and then on again before he could believe it was real.

Derek had weighed in at about 180 during his senior year lacrosse season. Which made it about thirty pounds--rounded down--that he'd gained. Twice the freshman fifteen and solidly over 200.

 

He'd sworn then to start working out again, to eat healthier foods, maybe not drink as much beer. But then midterms happened. And  _Stiles_ happened.

He kept telling himself that he'd start the next day, ignoring the fact that he'd said the same thing the day before.

 

Derek didn't realize he'd put on more weight, though, until he was trying to zip his jacket one morning and couldn't. He could have sworn that hadn't been a problem the last time he'd worn it.

And, okay, maybe that had been a couple months ago. And, if he was honest, it had been snug. But he could at least get the sides to meet back then.

Up until then, he'd been able to block out the thought that he'd gained weight again. But now it was on his mind the rest of the day. He surreptitiously felt up his belly during class later and, yeah, it was an actual belly now. He could see the top curve of it when he looked down. A masochistic part of him wanted to stop at the gym again and see exactly how much more weight he'd gained. But, luckily, a text from Stiles came through just then telling him to come join him in the library after class.

 

That night, they ran back to the upper classman dorms in the rain that was only coming down harder now. Stiles tugged Derek along by his hand, laughing and grinning at him the whole time and reminding Derek why he was so ridiculously in love with him.

When they finally got back to his room, Stiles kissed him over and over. It wasn't frantic or rushed or even leading to anything. It just seemed like he was kissing him just for the simple sake of it.

Derek tried not to smile too stupidly at that thought.

When Stiles finally stepped back and shrugged off his jacket, Derek noticed how he was still somehow soaked through.

"Get your clothes off," Derek told him gruffly.

Stiles gave him an over the top lascivious look and said, "Hmm, I like where you're going with this."

Stiles began stripping off his wet clothes and Derek tried not to watch. Looking would lead to touching which would lead to neither of them getting any more work done that night.

"Come on, I'll get you some dry clothes," Derek told him.

"You know, I can think of a few activities we could do that don’t require any clothes."

He shook his head as he took off his own jacket.

"Don’t you have that paper due tomorrow?" he asked.

"Do you really have to remind me?" Stiles complained.

Derek just smirked and headed over to his dresser, stripping off his own soaked-through shirt on the way.

Then he paused.

It wasn't unusual to take off his clothes in front of his boyfriend. Definitely not. They managed to have sex pretty regularly for guys living in dorms across campus from each other. They'd been naked in bed together just two nights before, for god's sake.

But tonight Derek was aware in a different way of Stiles's eyes on him. Because Derek might have been oblivious to the fact that he'd put on more weight, but no way Stiles would have missed it.

He looked over at him, worried about what he'd see in his eyes. But instead he found Stiles's arms crossed over his own chest, and obviously trying to cover up that he was shivering.

Derek frowned. He might have a little too much insulation, but clearly Stiles didn't have enough.

So he quickly dug through one of his dresser drawers to find the old track pants he knew were still shoved in the back. He tossed them over to him and then opened another drawer to look for a long-sleeve shirt he could give him.

"Hey, I recognize these," Stiles said. "They only gave them out to first string. Which was totally unfair. I ran as many suicides as the rest of you."

"Keep these," Derek said. And then, for some reason, he suddenly needed to get it out there in the open. He self-consciously rested his hand on his belly. "Not like I can wear them anymore."

Stiles looked at the tag and then back at him. "Yeah, guess they're not your size anymore."

It shouldn't have hurt, and definitely shouldn't have been a surprise, that Stiles knew there was no way Derek was fitting into them these days. But Derek still felt his chest tighten.

"Guess thirty pounds will do that to you," he said when he caught Stiles staring at his naked stomach. Derek couldn't read his expression.

"Thirty?" Stiles repeated, voice sounding a bit faint.

"Uh, well, as of last fall," Derek said, and patted his gut to drive the point home, even as he was unable to meet Stiles's eyes. "Maybe a little more now. Guess I should hit the gym, huh?"

In the long moment of silence that followed, Derek held himself still as he waited to hear Stiles agree with him.

But then he felt a hand cover the back of the one Derek had resting on his own gut. He stared at it.

"Der," Stiles said. "You know it's okay, right? That I'm cool with it even if you never set foot in a gym again?"

He actually sounded kind of sad, which is what made Derek finally look up.

"Yeah?" Derek asked. 

"Duh," Stiles said, and leaned in to kiss him.

"Okay," Derek breathed. And Stiles's lips curved up into a gentle smile.

"Your jeans are still all wet, Der, get them off," he said, reaching down for the top button. It took some effort, and Derek realized they were way past tight these days. But Stiles didn't seem to mind as he finally unpopped the button and shoved them down Derek's legs.

He pushed Derek back onto his bed and straddled his thighs, leaning down to press a kiss onto his lips, tongue delicately licking into his mouth. Derek leaned up to kiss him back. He threaded his fingers through his wet hair.

"I'm going to make love to you so hard tonight," Stiles whispered against his lips.

Derek exhaled, feeling his chest finally unclench. "Okay," he said. "But after you finish your paper."

 

A few weeks later, Derek bought some bigger pants, and some larger shirts for good measure. He hadn't realized how uncomfortable his old clothes had gotten until he was wearing ones that fit.

Neither of them brought up Derek's weight again. But he could tell Stiles hadn't forgotten that night, with how he gave Derek's chubbier parts -- his belly, his sides, his chest, the insides of his thighs -- more casual touches than before. And sometimes in bed, he spent time just pressing kisses all over his middle.

And Stiles had never been shy about his praises for Derek during sex, but it seemed to take on a different meaning, these days, when he called Derek 'beautiful' or said he was 'so fucking hot'.

 

And so Derek was unprepared for the night that spring when Stiles suggested that Derek put on a pair of his old jeans. Sure, Derek knew they'd been his favorites. Stiles had only mentioned that a few dozen times. Derek had actually tried to wear them a few weeks ago for his sake, though it hadn't actually been a surprise when he couldn't button them anymore.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to Stiles, either. So when he still insisted that Derek try them on, Derek couldn't help but wonder if he was making a point. That he was trying to tell Derek that he'd finally gotten too fat for him.

"Yes, I'm sure they don't fit. I think I would know," Derek snapped. But he realized even as he said it that this was his fault, not Stiles's, after all. He was the one who wasn't keeping his weight under control. He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I got too fat for your favorite jeans, okay? Now, can we just go? We're going to be late."

 

Derek had originally planned on a lazy summer before Junior year started. Maybe he'd do some reading for his psych research project and catch up on some of the TV shows he hadn't had time for this past year. Maybe he'd get to take Stiles on some real dates. Maybe he'd show him his favorite spot just past the boundaries of his family's property in the preserve.

But then he'd come home to his mother's raised eyebrows, Cora poking his gut, and Laura's smirk as she asked him when the baby was due,

And, yeah, it had been embarrassing, but it hadn't bothered him that much. Except that it had made him think about how Stiles was obviously not as okay with his weight as he'd used to be.

And then, when he'd brought himself to pull out the bathroom scale, the dial had settled on a number that was uncomfortably higher than last fall's 213 pounds.

So when, one night, his mother had mentioned over dinner that they were short workers for their firm's construction project across town, Derek had volunteered. He'd figured that the physical labor, while not nearly as enjoyable a prospect as his original plans, might force him to get back into a little better shape.

 

That summer, he and Stiles didn't get much time alone together -- at least not with a bed around. They had to wait for a time when Derek was off work and the sheriff wasn't. Or one of the rare occasions when neither Derek's mother nor his sisters were home.

But, the times they were together, Stiles seemed to appreciate the fruits of Derek's labor. So to speak. He'd lick over Derek's bigger biceps, kiss his better defined chest and run his hands over his belly. It might have still been far from flat, but at least was getting smaller.

 

In August, Derek tried on his black jeans again, Stiles's favorite ones that Derek hadn't fit into a few months ago. He was pleased to find that, while they weren't exactly loose on him, he didn't have any trouble with the buttons anymore.

Stiles grinned at him so enthusiastically that Derek couldn't help but announce that he was back down to 221 pounds.

When Stiles just said, "Oh," and looked him up and down, Derek realized 221 pounds probably didn't sound like the kind of accomplishment it felt like.

"How much did you lose, then?" Stiles asked as they drove towards the movie theater. They did have time, on Derek's days off, to go on what felt like actual dates, after all.

"Seventeen pounds," he told him, more subdued, as he stopped at a stoplight.

"That’s a lot of weight to lose," Stiles said, eyes a little wide.

Derek looked away from him and said, "It was a lot to gain in one year."

"So that's what you weighed when we started going out?"

Derek hesitated, then confessed, "It was a little less than that, back then." He suddenly felt bad for Stiles having to put up with him gaining 25 pounds. "I'm sorry I got so fat on you."

"Der, I didn't _care._ " He said it so forcefully that it sounded true. Derek turned his head to look at him again. Stiles winked at him and said, "Plus you looked really hot in tight clothes, so there's that."

 

A few days before they returned to college, he and Stiles drove down to the high school to mess around on the lacrosse field. They didn't have any padding to wear, since there was no way Derek was fitting into his old gear and Stiles had unsurprisingly lost his. So Derek took it easy on him and either Stiles was doing the same or he was exactly as bad at lacrosse as Derek remembered. He suspected it was the latter and he was a little concerned about himself that he found that kind of adorable.

After a while, Derek finally let Stiles tackle him to the ground. Stiles didn't get up all the way, just enough so he could look at him. And grind his hips down into Derek's.

Derek groaned. "Jesus, Stiles, you can't do that here."

"You know," Stiles said, ignoring him as he trailed his fingers down the middle of Derek's chest, which was covered in a sweat-soaked t-shirt. "I had the biggest crush on you in high school."

"You did?" Derek asked in surprise.

He'd barely known Stiles in high school. He'd been benched most of lacrosse season and Derek hadn't spent much time with the kids a year below him, anyways. That was Cora's class. 

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Derek asked as he poked Stiles in the ribs in chastisement. Stiles let out an involuntary giggle and slapped at his arm as he wiggled away.

Derek retaliated by tackling him back onto the grass.

"We've been together for a year. This was information you could have shared," Derek said once he'd gotten Stiles pinned under him.

"Ten and a half months. And it was kind of embarrassing," Stiles said, not trying at all to escape. He probably knew that with how much heavier Derek was than him, he couldn't have if he'd tried. "You've always been way out of my league, and I don't think you even knew who I was, anyways."

"I've never been out of your league." Derek frowned.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure you didn't even know who I was," Stiles said.

"I know who you are now."

"I should hope so," Stiles laughed, and grabbed Derek's hips, shifting so that their groins lined up again. Derek tried to pretend he wasn't already hard, even if he knew Stiles could feel it.

"And I knew who you were, then," Derek said. He didn't want to admit that he'd mostly thought of him as the annoying kid Cora complained about. Instead, he ran a thumb over Stiles's lips and confessed, "I used to jerk off thinking about you sometimes. Your hands. And your mouth."

"You don't jerk off to thinking about my mouth now? Rude." Stiles bit his thumb, though Derek could tell he was hiding a smile. 

Derek pulled his hand away from the danger of Stiles's teeth. "I don't get that much time to jerk off these days, you know."

"Are you complaining that now that you're forced to fuck this mouth and get off to these fingers--" he waggled said fingers in front of Derek's face "--it's cutting into your little Derek time? Is little Derek too tired to get it up for you anymore?"

"Stop calling it little Derek," Derek said. But he laughed as he leaned down and kissed him anyways.

 

Living with Stiles took getting used to.

Derek had, for some foolishly optimistic reason, attributed the disorganization of Stiles's freshman dorm room to Scott. But once he moved in with Derek, it became clear that it had probably been all on Stiles.

No matter how often Derek tidied their apartment, it quickly turned into a chaos of misplaced things that Stiles picked up and then promptly forgot about when he was distracted by the next shiny object.

And Derek knew that Stiles had always had more than a little excess energy, and could tell the days he forgot to take his Adderall by how, instead of exerting his energy in a single purpose, Stiles flitted all over the place. But he'd assumed that Stiles must have rested at some point, and that it had just when Derek wasn't watching.

But now he knew that Stiles was never fully still, not even in his sleep.

Derek was more surprised, though, by how little he minded any of it. Maybe his life had needed a bit of chaos. And keeping Stiles from kicking him and twisting up all the covers by spooning up behind him and holding him tight every night? Well, it wasn't exactly a hardship.

But it made sense how his boyfriend stayed so skinny, even though they stocked their kitchen with chips and cookies and ate more macaroni and cheese and ramen for dinner than real adult meals.

Derek was, well, not so skinny. Not that he had been when they'd moved in together, anyways. He'd only made it down to 219 pounds by the end of the summer, after all. But he was back into his bigger jeans before Halloween, and they were actually starting to get snug again by the end of November.

 

They'd driven down to Beacon Hills together for Thanksgiving, taking Derek's car when Stiles's Jeep had stubbornly refused to start, and Stiles and his father joined Derek's family for the day.

Stiles, as usual, charmed his mother and got along way too well with Derek's sisters. And Derek felt his heart swell like it usually did, for some reason, at how Stiles so obviously adored his father.

But, every time he showed it by chastising his dad's eating, whether it was limiting him to white turkey meat or stopping him from taking an extra serving of dressing or another piece of pie, Derek felt something twist uncomfortably inside him.

He'd eaten three pieces of pie himself, after all.

 

On the drive back to college, when an hour had passed and Derek hadn't argued with Stiles once over his music choices, or complained how he kept switching songs 30 seconds in, Stiles must have realized something was up.

"Der, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Stiles turned to face him and he lowered the volume of the song he'd inexplicably ended up on, even though Derek had only ever heard him complain about the band.

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"I said it was nothing," Derek insisted. But then he said anyways, "You really give your dad a hard time about what he eats."

"Do you think I'm out of line?" He saw Stiles frown out of the corner of his eye.

"No."

"Because he doesn't mind. I mean, he minds. Because he likes hamburgers and french fries and would eat donuts every day at the station if I didn't have Emmy bribed to tell on him. But he knows I do it because I love him and I'd kind of like him to be around forever."

"I know," Derek said, even as he couldn't help but feel his chest clench just like it had on Thanksgiving.

"Then what's the problem?"

"You know I've put back on all the weight I lost last summer. And probably a few more on top of that," Derek said tightly. He was uncomfortably aware of the way his belly was pushing over the waist of jeans he would have unbuttoned long ago if Stiles hadn't been in the car with him.

"What? That's what this is about?" Stiles asked. "You want me to give you a hard time about your weight? You want me to tell you you can't have red meat anymore? Or not to have a third piece of pie?"

 _Of course_ Stiles had been counting. Derek clenched his jaw. "I just hadn't realized it bothered you so much."

"What? It doesn't. You know I don't care about this," Stiles said, putting a hand over his gut.

Derek glanced down at it, gritting his teeth. Stiles took his hand away and Derek turned back to the road.

"You do know that, right?" Stiles asked, sounding less sure of himself.

"I don't get why you wouldn't care," Derek said.

"Why don't I care? Because you don't have high cholesterol or high blood pressure or been told by your doctor that, combined with your high stress job, you're headed for a heart attack before you're 55!" Stiles flailed an arm in emphasis. "Because, oh my god, Der, if you did, I'd be on you about it all the time. I totally would. You're the love of my fucking life and I'd hate myself for it every time, but I'd do it, I would."

Derek looked over at him. Stiles was staring at him, biting his lip and looking like he might actually cry.

Derek hated himself for putting that look on his face. He reached over and grasped Stiles's hand and said quietly, "Stiles, I'm sorry."

Stiles just squeezed Derek's hand back.

 

As the second semester of his junior year passed, Derek became conscious of how heavy he was in a way he had never been before.

Stiles had told him it was okay if he gained weight over the holidays but Derek had said he wasn't going to. Which was a joke now because he'd had to size up before the next semester had even started. And, well, he hadn't exactly gotten in any better shape since then.

One night, after coming inside Stiles, Derek's arms were exhausted and he was tempted to collapse on top of him, like he'd used to. He didn't even care about the sweat and cum between them. Stiles could probably tell, because he reached his arms around Derek's back and tried to tug him down.

Derek collapsed to Stiles's side on the bedspread instead.

"Derek," Stiles whined. Derek didn't pretend not to know what he was complaining about.

"I'm too heavy for that, now, Stiles," he said, sliding his arms around him and hugging him tight into him as he rested his head on his chest.

"Pretty sure you're not," Stiles insisted.

"I weigh over a hundred pounds more than you," Derek said without thinking about it. And immediately regretted his sex-sleepy mind when Stiles stilled next to him.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

Because Derek remembered Stiles joking once about how he was 155 pounds of skin and bones and sarcasm. And because Derek had finally bought a scale a couple weeks ago. He'd timed it when Stiles would be in class because he knew his too-curious-for-his-own-good boyfriend would demand to know what was in the shopping bag.

"I just know," Derek said.

"Well, how much more, then?" Stiles asked. Derek pulled back to look at him, dreading the look of disgust or disappointment he knew he'd see there.

But, obviously he'd forgotten who his boyfriend was, because Stiles's eyes were lit up with curiosity instead.

"Well. That depends on how much you weigh," Derek said, running a hand down Stiles's flat stomach.

"153 pounds last I checked," Stiles said.

Great. Stiles had lost two pounds he definitely hadn't needed to. Derek sighed. "Six pounds more, then."

"Oh."

Derek started to pull back away, but Stiles stopped him.

"You're still not going to squash me or whatever you're thinking, dude," Stiles said. "I'm no lightweight."

"You really are."

"Fine," Stiles pouted. He poked Derek's shoulder with a finger. "But you know you could weigh 200 pounds more than me and I wouldn't care."

That startled a laugh out of Derek, but it sounded bitter even to his own ears. "Jesus, Stiles. I'm already huge."

"You're not huge, Der. It's not your fault you apparently have a lightweight of a boyfriend," Stiles said. He shifted from his back to his side to face Derek and snuggled in closer to him, rubbing his hand over the side of Derek's belly. "You're just bigger than you used to be. This is bigger."

"It's in my lap," Derek said, because Stiles had pointed that out a few weeks ago.

"Yeah. Sometimes," Stiles said, shifting closer to him again. And--

"Stiles," Derek said, reaching down. "Are you hard again already?"

"What do you think?" Stiles gave him a shit-eating grin.

"Why?" Derek asked incredulously, squeezing gently around Stiles's cock.

"Uh, maybe because my boyfriend's naked and letting me touch him? And we're talking about his body. I kind of like thinking about his body."

"You're touching my belly and we're talking about how fat I am," Derek corrected him.

"I'm still touching you and we're still talking about your body," Stiles repeated.

"Stiles--"

"Look, in case it wasn't obvious, I'm kind of into you," Stiles cut him off impatiently, sounding like he thought Derek was a little slow on the uptake. "When I'm bored in class and I start thinking about you naked, it's just embarrassing, okay? I'm 20 years old and we've been together for a while now, but I still have to think about Mr Harris and dissecting frogs to get my boner to go down."

Derek couldn't help but laugh at that, an actual laugh this time. Partly because of the image, but mostly because he found he actually believed him. As incongruous as it seemed that Stiles might actually still think about him that way.

"Laugh away, mister," Stiles said. But he was grinning at him, looking strangely triumphant.

"You're ridiculous," Derek told him, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

"Mmm," Stiles hummed. He reached between them for Derek's cock, which was starting to take more than a little interest in the proceedings. "Not sure you have a leg to stand on here."

"Maybe not," Derek murmured and kissed him again.

Stiles smiled against his lips and said, "If this is because I'm talking about Mr Harris, this is a judgement-free zone here."

"Really?" Derek asked.

"Okay, maybe just a little judgement."

Derek laughed and Stiles kissed him again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts, feedback, comments all very welcome
> 
> \---------------------
> 
> [my tumblr](http://roundelet.tumblr.com/)


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